Mary Sue goes Hollywood.

When exhausted, Husband likes to watch braindead television. Occasionally, I keep him company and watch, or read, or both at the same time, braindeadness permitting.

My book dropped from my hands yesterday evening as we watched Lara Croft strutt down the runway the Siberian plains, in very tight pants (la rainette: "any room for long johns in there?" Husband: "Not unless you're a stick insect, no"), a billowing, cream-coloured, beautiful and highly impractical coat, unbuttoned, and a skimpy, sleeveless tank top on the verge of a wardrobe malfunction.

I have nothing about Power Women in the movies, quite the contrary, and Angelina Jolie is very jolie indeed, in a kick-ass way. But give the poor soul a sweater, please!

(Braindeadness score: high, BTW. But oh my, interesting book)